


Match Play

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Learning Japanese is hard. Especially from hentai. Especially under an abstinence clause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Match Play

*

 

A fan shoves a dōjinshi at him and flees.

 

Mildly curious, Jaejoong stuffs it in a baggy back pocket and stumbles into the dorms.

 

"Dinner," Changmin greets from the couch, then promptly scowls and points an insistent finger at Jaejoong's shoes.

 

Sleepy, Jaejoong ignores him and shuffles into the kitchen, dirty sneakers on.

 

"Dinner," Yoochun grins, popping his head in.

 

Jaejoong fights a smile and mumbles, faux-cranky, "Is that my name."

 

Like a slow lazy ocean wave, Yoochun slinks into the kitchen and impishly sidles up to Jaejoong, a sudden bundle of fondness and sleaze, sweatpants hanging low on his bony hips.

 

"Kim Jaejoong," he croons dramatically, "Youngwoong Jaejoong, Hero Jaejoong," he rolls the _r_ with enough pomp fit for the coronation of some epic Miyazaki boy emperor—

 

Jaejoong smothers a stupid rush of affection.

 

"I left a note," he complains instead, tossing his workout duffel onto a crooked barstool. "I left _five_."

 

"None of us can read Japanese," Yoochun says, rummaging through the duffel for Jaejoong's worn-down MP3 player.

 

"I left them in Korean."

 

Yoochun pauses. "...none of us can read, period...?"

 

Jaejoong should be annoyed, but he just wants to sink his teeth into something.

 

"Here," he sighs at last and takes the dōjinshi out of his pocket, "eat this."

 

Eyes narrowed, Yoochun gingerly takes the booklet. He scans the cover, trying to make out the hiragana scribbles, then rolls his eyes. "...yeah. I don't find yunjae porn very nutritious."

 

There's something oddly sulky in his voice, but Jaejoong's too busy scrutinizing the kitchen for food scraps to process anything.

 

" _Another_ one?" Junsu yawns, materializing out of some new dimension. He peeks over Yoochun's shoulder, grossed out. "Someone gave Changmin ten of those today."

 

Yoochun gives him a contemplative look. "Wanna have a bonfire?"

 

 

*

 

The four of them are huddled on the living room floor, surrounded by a mess of manga and dōjinshi, when Changmin just turns a page and loses his shit.

 

"NO, COME ON, YOU CAN'T COME AND PISS AT THE SAME TIME," he hollers at the page, mouth stretched with absolute loathing, "IT'S ANATOMICALLY IMPOSSIBLE—"

 

It's basically in the middle of this sentence that Yunho comes home.

 

He freezes in passing, unsteady on his feet, somewhere halfway down the corridor, then backtracks into the living room.

 

"What the hell are you reading."

 

Grumpy, Yoochun looks up. "Yunjae dōjinshi."

 

Completely horrified, Yunho scowls. "Okay. Let me rephrase. WHY are you reading it."

 

"Someone gave it to us," Jaejoong explains calmly.

 

Yunho pauses, then rubs his eyes so hard they almost change colors. "If someone gave you the plague—"

 

"Hyung," Junsu cries, traumatized, "help."

 

With a concerned kind of curiosity, Yunho folds himself next to Junsu, ripping a thin blue booklet out of his trembling hands.

 

"...is that me," he asks warily. "Why is my junk sparkling."

 

No one really answers him.

 

So he flips a page. "...why is Jaejoong suddenly a tiny woman?" He turns one palm up, which Jaejoong's learned means _what the actual fuck_ , "and why are my hands the size of a house?"

 

"They're yaoi hands," Changmin remarks offhandedly, stabbing one long finger into the rug with an unattractive glower.

 

Yunho looks up, awash with concern. "Changminnie... what have you been reading."

 

Junsu crosses himself.

 

Grumbling, Yunho goes back to the dōjinshi. "I'm confused. Is this still me? It looks nothing like me."

 

Yoochun makes a face, tone super careful, "Well, the hair..."

 

"Looks like uncooked ramyun," Yunho argues.

 

His bangs are sticking up, each strand defying gravity.

 

Jaejoong opens his mouth before his sense of self-preservation kicks in. Thankfully, he catches a glimpse of Yoochun, whose mouth is also open in paused rebuttal. Grinning, they exchange a knowing glance, and close their mouths in tandem.

 

"And is that supposed to be me, too?" Yunho scowls, waving a random page in everyone's face. There's a dude that vaguely looks like Yunho and then there's also the dude's junk, which is practically too big to fit across four panels. " 'Cause that's not very impressive, I mean, come, my... thing is way bigger than that—"

 

Changmin chokes a little.

 

"Wait, no—" Yunho continues rambling, clearly offended, smoothing a bit of hair down, "how is that—I don't—"

 

"Yunho-yah," Jaejoong interrupts, fed up, "it's just standard dōjinshi stuff."

 

Yunho looks like he's going to cry. "How do you even _know_ this?"

 

With a shrug, Jaejoong raises both eyebrows. "I read this stuff?"

 

"ABOUT ME??"

 

"ABOUT _ME_ ," Jaejoong replies tersely, "you just happen to be there all the time."

 

Ornery, Yoochun makes a face and mumbles, voice low, "Aren't there any dōjinshi about me."

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong shrugs, suddenly irritated as fuck, because he accidentally read one of those things and set it on fire, "but you mostly just make Junsu cry."

 

"During sex," Changmin supplies helpfully. "During a lot of sex."

 

Junsu glances at the ground, hands twisted in his lap. "...I need to go pray. "

 

"...what's that collar for," Yunho asks suddenly, face scrunched up in innocent worry as he skims through a new dōjinshi, clearly intent on ignoring everyone. He slips into a thick Gwangju dialect and ponders aloud, "Am I gonna stop in the middle of sex to go walk my dog??"

 

Silence fills the room.

 

Changmin's face is basically a red ocean.

 

Bewildered, Yunho looks at each of them expectantly, awaiting another explanation, possibly from the two experts.

 

But the silence stretches.

 

And then there's a tiny muffled ........ _hee_ from Yoochun.

 

Jaejoong bites his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.

 

"...turn the page, hyung," Changmin says with a wince.

 

Yunho turns the page.

 

Then violently chucks the booklet across the room.

 

It peels off the wall and thunks into a barren fish tank.

 

"NEW PLAN. WE BURN EVERYTHING."

 

Curious, Junsu picks up the next dōjinshi in queue. Frowning, he opens to a random page and says, "Wait, it can't possibly be worse than the one where—"

 

He pauses, turning the thing every which way.

 

"I don't get it," he squints at the dialogue, "what's Yoochunnie gonna fill me up with—"

 

"...diesel," Changmin snaps, kind of resentfully, "what do you _think_ —"

 

Junsu skips a page.

 

Then drops the booklet, face the definition of unadulterated terror. "Do we... do we report this to someone."

 

Completely done with them, Jaejoong collects the discarded dōjinshi, flattening the covers back into shape. "So... dinner?"

 

Yoochun cracks his neck, rising. "Yes, please."

 

But Yunho looks like he's lost faith in humanity.

 

Slowly, he reaches over to Jaejoong's stack of dōjinshi and pulls one back out, jenga-style.

 

"Hyung..." Changmin starts apprehensively.

 

Without a word and obviously on a mission, Yunho pages through the thing, expression unreadable.

 

"We're vampires," he announces at last, voice dead, "having sex in a church."

 

Junsu maybe cries a little.

 

"No, this is... no," Yunho says, lips thinning. "We have to fix this."

 

"We have to fix it," Junsu agrees, scooting closer. "There's a special service on Sunday that we can—"

 

"No," Yunho commands firmly. "Not enough."

 

Dread fills the very bottom of Jaejoong's stomach.

 

"It's time," Yunho says.

 

Next to Jaejoong, Yoochun seems to stop breathing.

 

"It's time to enforce the abstinence clause," Yunho nods, mostly to himself. "We have an abstinence clause."

 

Yoochun pales. "There's also a clause that says our food budget should be manageable—"

 

Everyone briefly glances at Changmin.

 

"Okay," Yunho inhales sharply, rising. "For the future of the group, from now on, no dating. No having sex with girls. No—"

 

Horrified, Yoochun makes a vague gesture at the living room. "What."

 

"It's the only way to purify you guys," Junsu chimes in approvingly, getting up.

 

Yunho clasps his shoulder and nods his chin at the mess of dōjinshi. "I have to fix this before management finds out about these... things—"

 

"We didn't _write_ them," Yoochun argues desperately.

 

"You _read_ them," Yunho reasons.

 

Yoochun's shoulders slump.

 

Jaejoong's sort of... majorly pissed off, but not at Yunho.

 

'Cause what _girl_ has Yoochun been—

 

"So we're agreed?" Yunho asks, leader mask firmly in place. "No girls. No touching yourself. Abstain completely."

 

...wait, what.

 

"What," Jaejoong rasps out.

 

He was gonna be a little more eloquent than that but Changmin echoes a distressed little, "What," followed by an offended, "What," by Yoochun, so.

 

Junsu pauses to consider.

 

"That's good, hyung," he beams, "no girls _and_ no abusing yourself, okay, good."

 

"Pretend it's a competition if you have to," Yunho instructs. "Whoever breaks first..." his eyes go dark, "will get punished."

 

Changmin shivers visibly.

 

"Consider it my early birthday present," Junsu chirps.

 

Frustrated, Changmin points out, "Your birthday is half a year away—"

 

"Consider it Yoochun's belated birthday present."

 

"...I don't want that at all..."

 

"So it's settled," Yunho nods, satisfied. "Complete abstinence."

 

*

 

"This is _bullshit_ ," Yoochun growls.

 

Jaejoong squeezes some toothpaste onto Yoochun's toothbrush then meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror. "Eh. I give it a week."

 

Violently, Yoochun shoves the toothbrush into his mouth, mumbling around the bristles, "A week without sex? A WEEK?"

 

Jaejoong narrows his eyes, rinsing. "We've only been in Japan for a month."

 

Confused, Yoochun frowns, slowing his brushing. "...okay?"

 

Calmly, Jaejoong shrugs one shoulder. "So how did you already find a girlfriend."

 

Yoochun freezes.

 

Inexplicably, Jaejoong's heart clenches.

 

Yoochun lowers his hand, toothbrush clanking against the sink counter.

 

Jaejoong exhales softly.

 

Whatever.

 

"It's fine," he says, keeping his tone neutral. He turns on the faucet and bends to cup some water. "Changmin will break first and Yunho will stop this so just relax, okay."

 

Yoochun is strangely quiet.

 

And then he gently shoves Jaejoong out of the way, rinses his mouth, and turns.

 

Jaejoong's heart must be defective today because it's throbbing stupidly.

 

With a quiet sort of grace, Yoochun pins Jaejoong's bangs back with an old, loose hair clip.

 

Slightly shaky, Jaejoong mumbles a rushed thanks and bends to slap water onto his face, bangs threatening to spill over.

 

"I bet Junsu's gonna break first," Yoochun says and it sounds a little too careful and slightly apologetic and unmistakably conciliatory so Jaejoong decides to just not be an unreasonable dick.

 

"You wanna bet on it, Yoochun-ah~"

 

Yoochun chuckles, lips glistening. "What do I get if I win."

 

Jaejoong straightens, face and hands dripping wet.

 

There's a speck of toothpaste on Yoochun's chin.

 

Jaejoong wipes it away.

 

"Whatever you want."

 

*

 

The next morning, someone folds a blanket the wrong way and world war three breaks out.

 

Jaejoong doesn't really care.

 

He's fine.

 

Not stressed out or frustrated or full of unresolved sexual tension.

 

...mostly because he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror an hour earlier and he just... looked so fucking attractive he couldn't help himself.

 

So he took care of business.

 

Junsu did give him a suspicious glance upon exiting the bathroom but, hey, what Junsu can't prove—

 

"Timing," Yunho growls, hurtling a stopwatch across the hallway at Jaejoong's head. "From now on, everyone gets no more than ninety seconds on the toilet."

 

"...I was _showering_ ," Jaejoong says, maybe too guiltily.

 

"Four minutes per shower."

 

*

 

By nightfall, everyone seems to adopt the _if I can't, you can't_ mentality.

 

There's tattling and foiled attempts and what the fuck is even wrong with this household.

 

Junsu spends ten minutes just rambling about honor and endurance and purity and how keeping promises is important and how they're family and how family shouldn't lie so Jaejoong just slinks off to his bedroom, agitated.

 

"Wanna form a sub-unit," Yoochun greets from his bed, curled in some physically-improbable position with a stack of manga. "No abstinence clause."

 

Jaejoong faceplants into his bed, groaning.

 

*

 

He tries to take a shower on day three, so early in the morning it's still technically yesterday.

 

But Changmin's there with a stopwatch, leaning on the door and looking like a warden.

 

"What," Jaejoong manages, bleary-eyed.

 

"I'm going to supervise Yunho."

 

Jaejoong drags an exhausted hand down his face. "Call him hyung."

 

Changmin ignores him. "And you can supervise the others."

 

"...who's gonna supervise YOU."

 

Changmin shoos him off.

 

*

 

During a photoshoot, Yoochun glues himself to Jaejoong's back.

 

Which isn't unusual.

 

What's unusual is Jaejoong's urge to push him away.

 

*

 

On day five, Jaejoong starts cooking breakfast and burns down an entire section of the kitchen and a negligible piece of the living room.

 

He over-boils noodles, adds too much water to rice, loses six eggs, and snaps _metal_ fucking chopsticks in half.

 

*

 

On a Friday night, Changmin just... turns into a rabid woodland animal.

 

Jaejoong takes off in the middle of some wild rant about hormones and unhealthy practices and murder.

 

He sneaks into his room, hoping to catch a moment and—

 

"STOP THAT."

 

It takes a second to realize he's yelling at Yoochun.

 

Yoochun groans, on his bed, on his back, on a pile of pillows, fingers barely brushing the waistband of his sweat pants.

 

"No," Jaejoong says, shaking with a feverish kind of need, body suddenly aflame. "You can't. No one can."

 

Yoochun's eyes are dark and unfocused and he hesitates, looks Jaejoong over, up and down, drags his gaze fucking _everywhere_ , pupils blown and lips parted.

 

"Fine."

 

They sleep with the lights on.

 

*

 

 

Jaejoong needs a fucking cigarette.

 

Wound tight, he slips onto the balcony, flicking his lighter so hard the flame bursts upward, almost singeing his eyebrows.

 

He inhales like a man drowning, hollowing his cheeks out and reducing half the cigarette to ash within four seconds.

 

He paces around, glares at the full moon, kicks the rusted railing, plucks a whole thing of leaves off some neglected fern, angrily snaps his fingers to some frantic beat in his head.

 

Finally, he flicks the spent cigarette butt to the ground and snuffs it out with his slipper and turns to go back inside—

 

The makeshift ashtray Yoochun and Yunho fashioned out of a dead cactus and some fish tank pebbles catches his eye.

 

There's a disconcerting number of cigarette butts there.

 

And they seem to be arranged weird.

 

Almost like... the kanji for...

 

Sex.

 

A low moan works its way out.

 

Jaejoong's hard instantly.

 

His right hand slips lower, brushing over his crotch.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck, he's going to get fined for public indecency and kicked out of the group but, just, fuck. Shit.

 

"Hands off, hyung."

 

The balcony door slides shut behind Yoochun.

 

Jaejoong's heart drops to his stomach.

 

Oddly tense, Yoochun lights a cigarette, face illuminated by the flame, then offers the pack to Jaejoong.

 

Unthinking, Jaejoong accepts, shivering.

 

"I was practicing my Japanese," Yoochun murmurs, nodding his chin at the ashtray.

 

Jaejoong wants to say something.

 

Instead, he leans closer because his cigarette still hasn't been lit.

 

He guides the tip of it to Yoochun's and sucks.

 

Yoochun freezes.

 

"...can you read that kanji," he murmurs as Jaejoong pulls away.

 

Jaejoong's cock hurts.

 

"Nope."

 

*

  
So, Changmin can't zip up his pants before a concert.

 

Concerned, manager-hyung puts them all on a diet.

 

*

 

They're filming a commercial and Junsu almost kicks a cat.

 

On purpose.

 

"Maybe... it's time to call this off," Yunho wonders aloud, chin in hands.

 

*

 

"Okay, no, that's enough," Changmin snarls, pulling Yoochun and Yunho apart during an MV shoot, "ten seconds of touching, time to stop."

 

Jaejoong cooks Changmin's favorite food for a week.

 

*

 

During a voice lesson, Yoochun hits a note so low their tutor worries he's been possessed by the antichrist.

 

Junsu hits a note so high their pianist's glasses crack, a vase explodes, and a bunch of dogs are summoned out of nowhere.

 

*

 

After a concert, Jaejoong's Japanese tutor says there's really no better way to learn a language than by reading.

 

So she shoves a metric ton of manga at him.

 

Jaejoong can't really think things through because one moment he's handing in his workbook and the next, he's on his bed, reading hardcore hentai.

 

It's just page after page of giant boobs flapping in baffling directions and no matter which way Jaejoong turns his head, the anatomy issues just don't seem possible and what is this going to teach him anyway, how to moan in Japanese, because he's pretty sure he's got that covered by now—

 

"Hyung."

 

Jaejoong looks up.

 

And loses his fucking mind.

 

Yoochun's by the door, freshly showered, pale and wet and naked, with a tiny Naruto towel slung low on his hips.

 

Slowly, Jaejoong slides the manga over his crotch.

 

He should say something because this is Yoochun and Jaejoong always has something to say to him.

 

But.

 

His cock twitches between the pages, painfully hard.

 

Yoochun stares at him for a long moment, features dark.

 

"I wanna sleep," he says, voice rough. "Stop reading so I can turn off the light."

 

Jaejoong just gives a tiny nod.

 

"Hyung," Yoochun repeats, not moving. A drop of water slides down his neck, over his chest, across his stomach, puddles in his navel— "Put the manga away. So I can turn off the light."

 

Jaejoong can't move that book. He can't because he's so hard and he's doing to die.

 

"Move it."

 

Jaejoong swallows.

 

Fuck.

 

"Turn off the light, Yoochun-ah."

 

Yoochun pauses, gaze fixed on the manga cover, then narrows his eyes.

 

The light turns off.

 

Jaejoong blinks at the dark ceiling, trying to adjust.

 

Reluctantly, he lets the manga drop to the floor.

 

His fingers inch back slowly.

 

It doesn't fucking matter. Nothing matters. Not any clauses or bets or privacy or decency.

 

So he cups himself with a frustrated little grunt.

 

His mattress dips.

 

"Hyung," Yoochun whispers, curling into him. "The rules say no girls."

 

Jaejoong stops breathing.

 

"And no touching yourself," Yoochun continues softly, pressing closer. "Technically—"

 

Jaejoong turns his face but he can't see anything.

 

"If—" Yoochun starts, voice catching.

 

"Okay," Jaejoong breathes out.

 

And then Yoochun's palm is pressing into his crotch.

 

"Ah," is all Jaejoong can say, legs spreading automatically.

 

In the darkness, Yoochun slings one leg over him and closes his palm over Jaejoong's cock.

 

Jaejoong's sweatpants are thick but this feels

 

it feels so fucking amazing he's going to just

 

come.

 

"Rule number one," Yoochun gasps, pressing his erection into Jaejoong's hip.

 

There's no towel.

 

There's no fucking towel.

 

"It's not wrong if one of us has clothes on," Yoochun murmurs into his ear, gruff.

 

Jaejoong nearly comes.

 

His critical thinking skills are gone, completely dissipated, lapsed irretrievably, so he lifts his hips off the bed as Yoochun grinds his palm down.

 

Desperate, Jaejoong gasps for air and everything that's been building up threatens to spill over at once so, with one hand, he grabs at whatever part of Yoochun he can.

 

"Inside," he seems to say and whatever the hell he means by that Yoochun seems to understand because he pauses for a moment, removes his hand, then brings it to the waistband of Jaejoong's sweatpants and pulls them down, roughly, quickly, painfully.

 

Jaejoong's not wearing briefs and then there's a warm hand wrapping around his cock.

 

"Fuck," he says, mouthing at nothing.

 

Yoochun tightens his grip, then gives a frustrated groan and pulls away.

 

Jaejoong's heart and mind and soul stop.

 

"No, why—" he whines but then he's being tugged into a sitting position on his stupid narrow bed and it's not comfortable, but Yoochun maneuvers him half into his lap, a tangle of legs, and then they're facing each other in the dark, oh god—

 

"Me, too," Yoochun demands and wraps both hands around Jaejoong's cock again.

 

...oh.

 

Oh.

 

Jaejoong leans into him, buries his face in Yoochun's neck, and even though his knees hurt and there's pressure on his spine, his hands slip into Yoochun's lap.

 

He gropes blindly for a moment until his fingers brush the tip of Yoochun's pulsing cock and then it feels so natural to just sheathe Yoochun in a tight grip and stroke him hard, thumb circling the head.

 

"Fuck," Yoochun breathes into his hair, "hyung. Fu-ck."

 

Jaejoong's toes are curling and pressure's building so fast, too fast, beneath Yoochun's fingers, twisting through Jaejoong's stomach and spreading down his cock and winding around his spine—

 

Yoochun makes a small needy noise and bucks up and tugs hard and to the left and Jaejoong just spills, breathless.

 

*

  
Over breakfast, Changmin stabs his chopsticks through his plate.

 

Jaejoong sits very still the entire time.

 

Tries very hard to not watch Yoochun eat.

 

Makes very few coherent sentences. Tries very much to choke down his guilt and his embarrassment and even though his body feels like a note played perfectly, his mind's a disaster, screaming at him to throw himself out of the window, to just freefall from the balcony, screaming dramatically: _only death awaits me now_ —

 

"Yoochun-ah," Yunho mumbles around a mouthful of rice, flipping through a planner, "you and Changminnie have tutoring at Hibiya today, so make sure you take good care of..." he trails off, possibly sensing the murder aura radiating off of Changmin. "Yeah. Just make sure no one dies."

 

And then Yoochun's done with breakfast and lacing up his sneakers and heading off with Changmin without saying anything to Jaejoong.

 

Not a word.

 

Or a look.

 

Nothing.

 

So Jaejoong spends the morning moping and filling out Yoochun's Japanese workbook instead of his own.

 

Around noon, he goes over a page Yoochun's half-finished and there's some sort of telepathic rescue signal echoing in his head maybe, because as he's suddenly pulling out his phone to text Yoochun, a message comes through.

 

_12:14 japanese is the worst language in the history of languages_

 

Jaejoong almost drops his phone.

 

His heart is hammering so hard he feels genuine concern for his ribcage.

 

But he gets his shit together and types: _last night_

 

He hits delete so fast he permanently indents his phone.

 

_i think you took my workbook by mistake,_ he punches in instead, _don't fuck it up or i'll lose car privileges_

 

_12:16 how can i possibly fuck it up, hyung, on page 67_

 

_12:16 instead of the katakana for 'sunshine'_

 

_12:16 where it's supposed to say 'you are my sunshine'_

 

_12:16 you wrote the katakana for 'sandwich'_

 

_12:16 so i turned in an entire paragraph about sandwiches_

 

_12:17 ...i signed changmin's name so it's okay_

 

Oh.

 

Oh, no.

 

Jaejoong feels happy.

 

Just... fucking _happy_.

 

He tries to chase the feeling away but it settles deep in his chest, so he texts _...yoochunnie, are you hungry_ and everything is okay again.

 

*

 

His personal trainer's running two minutes late, so Jaejoong ends up bailing on the gym and walking home alone.

 

It's a little chilly out so he zips up his hoodie, hands in his pockets.

 

Passersby ignore him so he makes it to the apartment in record time.

 

In fact, the apartment highrise is already looming ahead, a familiar balcony sloping to one side, massive half-dead fern overflowing over the railing.

 

Jaejoong squints.

 

What the fuck is that thing hanging off the balcony, though.

 

Weirded out, he jogs ahead until he can kind of make out a... hand?

 

Seriously, there's a lazy fucking hand just hanging off the balcony as though its owner is haphazardly sprawled on the cold cement.

 

...fucking idiot.

 

"YAH," Jaejoong shouts, using his hands as a megaphone.

 

The fingers four floors above twitch.

 

And then a face pokes through the railing.

 

And then a sleepy Yoochun is waving at him, hair mussed, grin lopsided, eyes warm.

 

Jaejoong freezes.

 

He doesn't wave back.

 

Just silently pushes into the building, bypasses the elevator, and takes the steps three at a time.

 

He sheds his jacket and duffel and shoes at the threshold and crosses the living room and opens the door to the balcony.

 

Yoochun's still half-napping there, wearing nothing but a thin hoodie and pajama pants.

 

Jaejoong sinks to his knees next to him.

 

"Turn around," he hears himself say.

 

Confused, Yoochun turns on his back. "What are you—"

 

Stupidly, Jaejoong bends his head and drags Yoochun's pajama pants and boxers down.

 

And then he's just taking Yoochun into his mouth.

 

"Hyung—" Yoochun gasps, tensing, fingers pushing at Jaejoong's head, "—no."

 

Instinctively, Jaejoong flattens his tongue and sinks down as far as he comfortably can.

 

The cock in his mouth hardens, lengthens, thickens, stretches his lips.

 

Yoochun tastes a bit like theater popcorn and autumn and something heavy and sharp and addictive, so Jaejoong drags his lips up, back to the head, licks deep and flat and rough into the slit, grips the base with both hands and moves.

 

"Oh god," Yoochun says and repeats it, arching off the ground and into Jaejoong's mouth.

 

*

 

Junsu spills milk during lunch and cries about it.

 

"Don't be such an uke," Changmin scolds, poking a straw through the box of banana milk he stole from Yunho.

 

"STOP READING MANGA," Junsu howls, boomeranging a slice of cheese at his head.

 

"Uke teams says what," Changmin grins, swatting at Junsu's lunch.

 

"HYUNG, MAKE HIM STOP."

 

Yunho opens his mouth, then grips the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.

 

"...I don't want to know," manager-hyung says, shoving a slice of pizza into his mouth, "no one tell me."

 

*

 

 

After a concert, high on adrenaline and drained as fuck, Jaejoong stumbles into the communal showers.

 

Junsu's shouting about his misplaced shampoo four stalls over, and Changmin's out-noising him with something about imported Thai coconuts, and all the shower stalls running at the same time are creating an unacceptable level of noise and.

 

Jaejoong's too tired to care.

 

He can barely make out his body wash perched atop a small soapy shelf and then there's a hand emerging through the thick waft of steam and grabbing his wrist and then Yoochun is kissing the inside of it.

 

"Not here," Jaejoong gasps but his cock doesn't give a shit.

 

Naked and wet and slippery, Yoochun slams him into the shower wall.

 

He drops to his knees and he's never done this to Jaejoong before so Jaejoong doesn't quite know what to do or feel or say except _don't_ but Yoochun latches on, closes his lips around the head, leans in forcefully, works his tongue and throat in a way that makes Jaejoong sag against the wall—

 

"Breaking—breaking rule number one," he manages, hands fisting in Yoochun's wet hair, "Yoochun. Chun-ah. Ch-ah."

 

His voice fractures on the last gasped syllable and he comes hard and fast and down Yoochun's throat.

 

*

 

Yoochun is a mess after naps.

 

Sometimes, like now, on the way to Saitama, he'll drift off on the bus. Usually, when he wakes up, he doesn't know where or who he is or what year or universe they're in and so Jaejoong casts a wary look down the aisle.

 

Most of the staff and crew is asleep.

 

They're chugging along some poorly-paved country road. It's three in the morning. And kind of really cold.

 

Which is the only reason Jaejoong squirms out of his seat and grabs a blanket.

 

Quietly, he makes his way to the very last row and tosses the thick blanket over Yoochun's lap.

 

And then he sneaks a hand under it.

 

Yoochun curls into the window.

 

It's a little awkward trying to unzip a pair of jeans with only one hand, blindly, in silence.

 

But the zipper cooperates and so Jaejoong slips cold fingers into Yoochun's boxers. He tries to do this as nonchalantly as possible because manager-hyung's on the other end of the bus and periodically turning his head to check on everyone, so Jaejoong takes out his phone with the other hand, flips it open, and randomly scrolls around.

 

Leisurely, Yoochun shifts under the attention, hard.

 

Jaejoong dares a glance.

 

Yoochun's eyes are open, hooded, gaze disoriented.

 

"Yoochunnie," Jaejoong asks calmly, turning his attention back to his phone and tugging on Yoochun's cock, "where are we."

 

He doesn't plan for it to sound so meaningful but Yoochun jerks under the blanket, wrapping both hands around Jaejoong's wrist, trapping him in place.

 

He doesn't say anything.

 

Which is typical for a post-nap Yoochun but suddenly, Jaejoong needs to hear... something.

 

He mashes the home button on his phone and gives Yoochun a slow stroke.

 

"Where are we."

 

"Gibraltar."

 

Jaejoong tries not to smile.

 

"Where."

 

"Fairfax."

 

Jaejoong's mouth curls.

 

"And who are you," he asks because, recently, this has been everyone's favorite road-trip game.

 

Yoochun doesn't even recognize himself when he's half-asleep.

 

"Some guy."

 

Smiling stupidly, Jaejoong slows his fingers, rubs his thumb under the head, and over it, spreading precome, and sings, "And who am I, Chun-ah?"

 

Yoochun bucks into his hand, lips parting, eyes closing.

 

"You're," he sighs, dazed, "mine."

 

Jaejoong drops his phone.

 

*

 

"Why is there so much saliva," Junsu cries as a fan peppers him with explicit yoosu pamphlets before disappearing down the street in a cloud of perfume.

 

Yunho examines the drawing, disgusted. "Who kisses like that?"

 

There's a thick string of saliva connecting illustrated Yoochun's mouth to illustrated Junsu's mouth.

 

Jaejoong's head hurts.

 

"Well, kissing is what makes it super gay," Changmin nods, sounding wise but looking like a very tall bird nest. "It's not gay if there's no kissing."

 

"...Changminnie," Yunho says helplessly, scuffing his sneakers on the pavement, "please stop reading these things."

 

*

 

Cooking in just sweatpants is probably a terrible idea.

 

Jaejoong does it anyway.

 

Wears just the loosest, thinnest pair he owns, or maybe Yoochun owns, and parks himself by the stove, oozing pheromones.

 

It doesn't take long for Yoochun to sidle up to him, very quietly.

 

"Apron," he murmurs, pressing into Jaejoong's back. He hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around Jaejoong's waist. "You should wear an apron."

 

Jaejoong stirs the tteokbokki.

 

Wants to say _aren't you my apron_ but shoves an extra hot, extra spicy rice cake at Yoochun's stupid mouth.

 

*

 

Junsu leans on Yoochun during rehearsals, giggling about something.

 

For dinner, Jaejoong cooks a meal composed of all the ingredients Junsu hates.

 

*

 

One Saturday, Yoochun leaves for Hibiya with Changmin.

 

Instead of practicing the new choreography, Jaejoong burrows under Yoochun's covers and spends the day in his bed, napping.

 

*

 

The dance studio's lit up like a shopping mall.

 

The music's blaring. Yunho's across the room, snapping his hips to the beat. Junsu's near him, popping moves, fixated on the mirror. Changmin's yawning.

 

"Thirsty," Yoochun whines, slumping next to Jaejoong.

 

Crumpled in the corner, sweaty and tired, Jaejoong takes a heavy swig from his water bottle, then passes it to Yoochun, unthinking.

 

Yoochun stares for a moment, hands haphazardly splayed over his knees. "No, too lazy."

 

Sleepy, Jaejoong takes another sip. Doesn't swallow. Just leans his mouth to Yoochun's.

 

Yoochun opens up.

 

Jaejoong's eyes snap open instantly.

 

Fuck.

 

This should be gross and disgusting and wrong.

 

But.

 

Startled, Jaejoong swallows the water, easily, doesn't choke, keeps his mouth pressed to Yoochun's.

 

Yoochun's eyes are closed. His entire body is tense, muscles in his arms taut, neck stiff, but then his head tilts and his mouth moves and

 

Jaejoong's never kissed like this before, open-mouthed and with tongue and perfect.

 

Gently, Yoochun angles his lips a little to the left and catches Jaejoong's upper lip between his teeth, then releases it, drags his thick bottom lip down and across, licks at Jaejoong's mouth, warm and slick, fucks up the order of everything logical inside of Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong pulls away, panting.

 

Yoochun levels him with a strange, dark look.

 

"Still thirsty."

 

Jaejoong brings the water bottle up and behind it, meets Yoochun's lips once more.

 

*

 

The fangirls are swarming.

 

Jaejoong leaps off the stage, drenched in sweat, and sparkles in their general direction, spotlight shining on his face.

 

"The real him," Yoochun grumbles into his microphone, "is just old sweatpants and bad hair, you know."

 

The sound barely carries across the auditorium but it echoes so loud and so clear to Jaejoong.

 

*

 

"The seme always looks like he wants to be doing a sudoku instead," Junsu complains to Changmin over a snack, a dōjinshi spread across his lap.

 

At the mere mention of the word seme, Yunho practically ziplines into the makeup room.

 

"...we have to do a TV show in twenty minutes," he reminds everyone, hesitating with an awkward grimace, "and if anyone asks, please don't say the first Japanese word we learned was seme."

 

"Technically," Changmin corrects with a smirk, rising to fix Yunho's tie, "it was uke."

 

Yunho's cheeks darken suspiciously.

 

*

 

Jaejoong leaves the gym early.

 

His personal trainer nearly has a stroke.

 

So when Jaejoong creeps into the apartment, unannounced, deep in some dark corner of the kitchen, Changmin's preoccupied with shoveling an entire thing of fried rice down his gullet.

 

In the living room, Junsu's destroying his new playstation, screaming obscenities at the soccer game glitching out on the screen, the veins in his neck bulging dangerously.

 

On the balcony, Yunho's silhouette seems to be cultivating an entire garden of cigarette butts.

 

Briefly, Jaejoong remembers he should at least _try_ to pretend he's as sexually frustrated so he throws his duffel bag across the hallway with enough force to dislodge a painting from the wall.

 

But then he rounds the corner and peeks into the tiny studio.

 

Yoochun's at the piano, in just some old jeans and a threadbare t-shirt, barefoot and oblivious.

 

Unbidden, Jaejoong pads over and just

 

wraps himself around Yoochun's back.

 

Yoochun's back is warm and his hair smells like Jaejoong's favorite shampoo and so Jaejoong lets go with difficulty.

 

He straightens up and tries to leave but watches his fingers part Yoochun's hair to reveal a pale nape.

 

He wants to kiss it.

 

Wants to just trail a path with his fingers and mouth.

 

Instead, he presses firmly into Yoochun's back and cups his chin from above and tilts it up and stupidly, kisses him for an hour.

 

*

 

One Sunday, Jaejoong comes home from a lesson and Yunho's sitting on the couch with Yoochun.

 

They're laughing over some dumb anime, knees touching.

 

Jaejoong has no fucking idea why he just climbs over the back of the couch and squeezes in between them.

 

*

 

 

Jaejoong almost dies during a Japanese food tasting show.

 

The hosts are spamming them with all kinds of weird snacks and it's mostly ten minutes of pretending he's not grossed out but then a staffer flashes a prompt card and someone delivers a shallow bowl of disgusting jelly strips and the paper says **ところてん**.

 

Jaejoong laughs so hard he bumps his forehead against the table.

 

Next to him, Yoochun says something in passable-Japanese and the camera pans away.

 

"Hey," Yoochun whispers, bending closer.

 

Trying not to giggle helplessly, Jaejoong pinches Yoochun's knee under the table. "Card. Look at the card. Yoochunnie. Card."

 

Inconspicuously, Yoochun tries to scan the prompt off in the distance, then grits his teeth. "What's funny about tokoroten?"

 

"It's slang," Jaejoong whispers back, swearing to hell and back he'll stop reading weird shit, never again, not once will he touch it, "for prostate orgasm."

 

Yoochun spends the rest of the show completely quiet.

 

*

 

"You wanna try it."

 

Jaejoong rubs one eye, sleepy. "Try what."

 

Yoochun's cheeks are dark. "The... tokoroten thing."

 

Jaejoong's not sleepy anymore. "With..."

 

"Me," Yoochun snaps. "Hyung. Fuck, come on."

 

Yes. Jaejoong wants. Wants it so bad he'd push a whole bunch of old ladies off a bridge. He'd feel really terrible about it but they'd get tossed off that bridge in a fraction of a second if—

 

"We're... both men. Doesn't that bother you."

 

Yoochun averts his eyes. "Does it bother you."

 

Jaejoong wants.

 

Wants wants _wants_.

 

But he says, "Rule number two was—"

 

"Fuck, whatever, forget it."

*

 

"I'M SWITCHING ROOMS."

 

Jaejoong blinks at Junsu.

 

Uninvited, Junsu throws his luggage on the ground by Yoochun's empty bed. "I can't take it anymore. I have to switch rooms. Let me stay with you."

 

Jaejoong slowly swivels around in his chair, pencil stuck behind his ear. "And where's Yoochunnie gonna stay?"

 

"Couch," Junsu snaps, "floor. Outside. I don't care. Can't do it. Done."

 

Jaejoong stops spinning around in his chair.

 

He wants to ask what the fuck but he's seen Changmin randomly morph into some savage koala intent on climbing and possibly violating Yunho, in a totally straight and platonic way, of course, so this is kind of understandable, but nah.

 

...just 'cause Yoochun's a good roommate. Jaejoong's... used to him, okay. Yoochun's breathing and warmth and just his presence one bed over at night is familiar and Yoochun's not messy and he has clothes that fit Jaejoong and his face is stupid and why the hell should Jaejoong trade.

 

"Junsu-yah, this is your fault," he accuses, anger starting to build in his gut. "You started this."

 

"NO, _YOU_ STARTED IT BY BRINGING FILTH INTO OUR HOUSE—"

 

"So call it off," Jaejoong points out.

 

Junsu gives a frustrated little growl then kicks one of his bags.

 

Jaejoong grins, smug.

 

Junsu makes an exasperated face, seems to think deeply, then says, "Okay."

 

Jaejoong's smile fades.

 

*

 

"Let's try it."

 

Yoochun looks up from a music sheet. "What."

 

"The gross jelly seaweed thing, Chun-ah."

 

There's a hint of panic in Yoochun's eyes but he gets off the piano bench and just... uh.

 

Walks out.

 

Confused and suddenly totally fucking terrified, Jaejoong trails after him.

 

He can't seem to open his mouth, however, so he just watches as Yoochun grabs a towel from their room then solemnly walks back past Jaejoong and barricades himself in the bathroom.

 

Jaejoong lets out a puff of air.

 

"Are you supervising," Changmin asks in passing, pleased.

 

Jaejoong doesn't know _what_ the fuck he's doing.

 

So, shaky, he leans against the wall and listens to the pipes groan and the water run and then, way past the allocated shower time, Yoochun shuffles out, skin pink and towel wrapped tight and pulled high and the sheer modesty of it punches through Jaejoong, leveling him with lust.

 

"Let's go," Yoochun murmurs and heads for their room.

 

Dazed, Jaejoong follows.

 

The hallway is a blur and then Yoochun is locking the door behind them.

 

Jaejoong's heart flutters hard and dangerously.

 

"I'm a biter," Yoochun warns, back turned. "I bite."

 

Jaejoong's cock hardens with a sharp ache.

 

But here's the thing.

 

Jaejoong's never done this before.

 

He's read a bunch of improbable shit. He's thought about this for longer than he cares to admit. Yoochun should never know how long. No one should ever know.

 

But he hasn't actually done it and fuck.

 

"I don't—" he starts awkwardly, frozen to a spot by his bed.

 

Yoochun can't look at him.

 

"It's okay," he says. "I looked it up," he mutters apologetically. "On Changmin's computer."

 

Jaejoong cracks up, startled.

 

And then he can't help the weight of this stupid affection so he apologizes mentally to Yoochun's parents and takes a step, two, three, and burrows into Yoochun, linking his arms around Yoochun's neck.

 

Yoochun tenses.

 

But then he growls a little and murmurs in Jaejoong's ear, "Fuck it," and grabs at the back of Jaejoong's shirt. He tears at the material, pulling it up. Jaejoong tries to help but all he's capable of doing is raising his arms high, which only serves to keep them trapped at the elbow while Yoochun lowers his mouth to Jaejoong's chest.

 

Jaejoong wants to joke about ukes and how nipple sensitivity supposedly determines who tops but he already knows. He's pierced it and he's still never had any particular sort of sensation there and it's not like he hasn't had girls try before—

 

Lightly, Yoochun scrapes his teeth over the left areola and flicks the nipple with his tongue, drags the flat rough part over it and a sharp twinge shoots through Jaejoong's entire ribcage, wraps around bone and muscle and ties a thick string of pleasure directly to his pulsing cock.

 

"Holy shit," he gasps, knees buckling, arms slack. His shirt slips off and flutters to the floor.

 

"So," Yoochun breathes out, shaking, "are you... can we."

 

Yes.

 

No.

 

Aren't there things he's supposed to do. Prepare. Things. Stuff. He hasn't showered. Or. Just.

 

"Chun-ah," he says because that's the only sound his mouth is capable of producing.

 

"...before I chicken out," Yoochun says, voice catching.

 

And just like that, Jaejoong realizes.

 

"Yoochunnie," he says, lips curling in surprised wonder. "What did you do in the shower."

 

Yoochun's face darkens adorably and Jaejoong can't take it.

 

He kisses him desperately, recklessly, laughs into his mouth, feels his heart swell with something like gratitude.

 

"Because you're older," Yoochun argues defensively, fingers digging into Jaejoong's hips, "I thought—"

 

"Shut up," Jaejoong grins and as much as he'd like to take advantage of Yoochun's... preparedness, this—this is where they should start, this is what Jaejoong should give Yoochun, what he owes and, fuck it, this is what he _wants_.

 

Panting and messed up, Yoochun gives a small nod and pushes Jaejoong away, stomping toward a dresser.

 

"Some girls ambushed me," he rambles, trembling, one hand tightly grasping his tented towel. He pulls out a drawer with too much force, rattling the lamp and alarm clock atop the dresser. "They told me to give this to you and Yunho-hyung." A tube of something is clenched in his hand. He turns to face Jaejoong and says, darkly, "I'm not going to give it to Yunho-hyung."

 

Jaejoong shivers.

 

Yoochun pauses, then uncaps the tube. "Get on the bed."

 

Jaejoong's going to come before he reaches the bed.

 

"Which one," he asks stupidly.

 

Yoochun meets his eyes, and fuck, oh god.

 

"My bed, hyung."

 

Weirdly obedient, Jaejoong sheds his pajama pants and his briefs and sits down on Yoochun's mattress, shaking so hard he can't totally decide how to even attempt to look cool and hot and seductive.

 

"Lie down."

 

Jaejoong does.

 

His cock slaps against his stomach.

 

It's mortifying and so Jaejoong throws an arm over his face, rasping, "Yoochun-ah—"

 

The mattress dips.

 

Slowly, Yoochun's hands spread Jaejoong's knees apart.

 

Jaejoong holds his breath.

 

There's a moment of hesitation but then there's a cool, wet sensation on his cock. Yoochun's fingers are slicked up and probing gently and then the tip of one is pushing into Jaejoong.

 

With a jolt, Jaejoong peeks under his arm and can only catch a quick glimpse of Yoochun.

 

The muscles in Yoochun's jaw are clenching hard, his brows are drawn together, and his lips are a thin, determined line, and Jaejoong feels undone or done in or something, so he lifts his hips off the bed and cries out.

 

Yoochun fits himself between Jaejoong's thighs, bends Jaejoong at a deeper angle and roughly shoves a finger in.

 

"Wait," Jaejoong gasps, pain and discomfort warring with a spark of low-pooling pleasure but mostly it's embarrassing because he's making weird noises and he can't control his voice or his hips, how the fuck, "Chun-ah, stop."

 

"Can't," Yoochun murmurs and gently adds another finger.

 

Jaejoong can't take it.

 

He squirms and arches up and away but then brings himself down on Yoochun's fingers and snaps his hips, fuck, what the hell is wrong with him.

 

"More," he seems to say, muffling a moan.

 

Yoochun tenses, then presses closer, the length of his cock rubbing up against the inside of Jaejoong's thigh.

 

"Stop or go, hyung," he manages, voice low and deep and sort of petulant and Jaejoong thrusts up, seeking friction.

 

"Go, go, go," he chants mindlessly.

 

Minutes later, when Yoochun sinks into him, buries himself to the hilt, and moves like he owns Jaejoong's body, Jaejoong breaks, spills over, promises to tether himself to the feeling for an eternity.

 

*

 

"Did you tell Yoochunnie it's over," Junsu yawns, stumbling out of the bathroom.

 

"...yeah."

 

*

 

 

Yoochun wants to try out the batting cages.

 

Jaejoong understands shit about baseball but he lets himself get dragged to Shinjuku after dark, incognito and hobo-like, caps down to their noses, collars drawn up.

 

He fully expects the standard boring rant about baserunning and fielding and something about bottom innings, but Yoochun presses him against a wire fence, rattling the cage as he crushes his mouth to Jaejoong's.

 

*

 

"...so..." Changmin laughs, one eye narrowed in glee, "no one told Yunho."

 

Jaejoong's riding in the back with the maknae and drawing ugly misshapen hearts on the fogged-up glass and he's sleepy and oddly content and just a mess.

 

"Call him hyung," Jaejoong commands for the nth time, rubbing at his cheek. "And what wasn't he told?"

 

Amused, Changmin inspects his nails. "That the abstinence drama is over."

 

Jaejoong rolls his eyes. "You can't ~supervise him in the shower forever, Changmin-ah."

 

Changmin grows sheepish, serious, angry, in that order.

 

"Yeah," he agrees calmly. "I'll tell him today." His gaze sharpens. "Also, I'll tell Yoochun-hyung."

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

"...Yoochunnie knows..."

 

Changmin doesn't say anything for a long minute.

 

He turns his head to stare out of the window.

 

Four stop lights in, Jaejoong mumbles, "Don't tell him."

 

Changmin tenses. "Do you... like him."

 

"I like everyone," Jaejoong huffs.

 

"You hate that one coordi-noona."

 

"...four birds tried to lay eggs in my hair because of her—"

 

"Shit," Changmin groans, banging his head against the car window. "This is so fucking gross. You're gross. You _can't_."

 

Yeah.

 

Jaejoong can't.

 

*

 

Jaejoong wakes up in Yoochun's bed.

 

His hand is under Yoochun's shirt, palming his heart, and for a brief, sleep-deprived moment, Jaejoong wants to mark this patch of skin, ink it, brand it with his name maybe, match it somehow, but he doesn't entirely remember how or why he's in Yoochun's bed.

 

"There was a moth in yours," Yoochun grunts.

 

Absentmindedly, he pulls the covers higher, tucking himself into Jaejoong's side.

 

*

 

Jaejoong's gonna do it.

 

He's gonna tell Yoochun today.

 

...after his shower.

 

They're staying at a nice hotel for a change, with a traditional bathroom, the kind that's really a giant shower in itself, and he's standing under the showerhead in one corner of the room, watching the water drain to the middle of the floor and leaning his palms against the cold wall and anxiety is just compounding itself around him, layer by layer.

 

This is fine.

 

It's... fine.

 

Jaejoong can end this. And Yoochun can go back to whatever Japanese girlfriend he's been neglecting.

 

It's fine.

 

"Weird bathroom," Yoochun comments offhandedly.

 

Jaejoong spins around, almost slipping on the wet tile.

 

"Didn't I lock the—"

 

Yoochun wraps his arms around Jaejoong, stepping under the spray. "Nope."

 

Jaejoong closes his eyes and breathes him in.

 

" _I_ locked it," Yoochun says. Jaejoong can feel him grin against his skin. "So..."

 

Jaejoong's body lights up with interest. "So..."

 

Yoochun slicks his wet hair back then runs a hand down Jaejoong's stomach. "Wanna pay me back?"

 

Painfully hard, Jaejoong does.

 

Without any semblance of control, he pushes Yoochun to the wall, away from the water.

 

Quietly, Yoochun lifts one leg up, wraps it around Jaejoong's hips, steadies himself against the wall.

 

Jaejoong lowers his hand. His fingers graze Yoochun's skin on the way down; ribs, abdomen, hipbone, ass. Tentatively, he curls his palm around one cheek, squeezing.

 

Yoochun groans.

 

Fuck.

 

Suddenly impatient, Jaejoong slides two fingers between Yoochun's cheeks, prodding. There's resistance but the skin is surprisingly soft and fuck it, Jaejoong shoves the tip of his middle finger in.

 

Yoochun's shoulders tense. The heel of his foot digs into the swell of Jaejoong's ass. His teeth scrape over his bottom lip, expression pained.

 

Jaejoong pushes off.

 

Yoochun gives him a wounded look.

 

Jaejoong—honestly, seriously—means to tell Yoochun this is unnecessary, that it's okay to stop, that he's sorry he's such a fucking bastard, but instead he goes down to his knees and nips at Yoochun's cock and says, "Shoulda brought the thing, Chun-ah."

 

Yoochun sinks his hands into Jaejoong's hair, eyes closing in pleasure.

 

"Because now," Jaejoong murmurs softly, licking down the shaft and draping Yoochun's leg over his shoulder, "I have to do this."

 

He angles Yoochun's hips better, stretching him against the wall, tracing his tongue down his balls and around to a tight bundle of nerves.

 

"Shit, don't," Yoochun says, pushing him away but there's no real threat or warning or truth behind it so Jaejoong licks a path around, then in, curling his fingers around Yoochun's cock.

 

"Hyung," Yoochun moans, "no."

 

Jaejoong's knees are gonna bruise but who the fuck cares. He forces his face closer, nuzzling at a sharp, hard juncture, tongue swirling around a twitching, clenching entrance and god, okay—

 

"Sorry," he mumbles and pulls the cheeks apart and pushes both thumbs in, only a little bit.

 

Yoochun's much better at learning languages so Jaejoong mouths at the soft swell of flesh and asks, "What's that Japanese thing you say after a feast."

 

"...gochisousama..." Yoochun manages, laughter seeping into his tone.

 

Jaejoong bites down.

 

The laughter stops.

 

It's replaced by a series of needy little gasps as Jaejoong jolts up, knees aching, and palms at the small of Yoochun's back, bends him down and over.

 

"No," Yoochun breathes out, cock bobbing as he's forced further down, "the bed is literally right—" Jaejoong works the head in, "fuck it, fuck everything."

 

 

*

 

"...where's hyung going?"

 

Jaejoong's heart skips a beat.

 

He glances at the mirror hanging by the front door where Yunho's busy preening.

 

"He has a date," Changmin mutters, bitter.

 

Yoochun blinks. "What."

 

Junsu flies by them, landing on a massive beanbag chair. "Some noona from the audio department."

 

"Call her nee-san," Yunho lectures, practicing his hiragana in the mirror.

 

"...why are you..." Yoochun starts with a bewildered gesture. "But the? Clause? Thing? THE THING?"

 

Changmin bores holes into Jaejoong's forehead.

 

Jaejoong wants to hit pause.

 

Rewind.

 

Cut and paste over this whole thing.

 

"Yah, that ended, like, two weeks ago," Junsu yawns, judgmentally eyeing Yunho's shoes. "Hyung, don't wear those."

 

Changmin's attention is sufficiently diverted so Jaejoong casts a wary glance at Yoochun.

 

Yoochun's staring at him.

 

His expression is unreadable.

 

And then he grabs a fucking jacket and storms off ahead of Yunho.

 

*

 

Jaejoong can fight with anyone in the world.

 

But not with Yoochun.

 

Yoochun is the exception because fighting with Yoochun is like...

 

...it's like watching sand slip through an hourglass.

 

Most people are top parts and the sand just drains away but Yoochun is like the bottom part where the sand only accumulates and Jaejoong's heart hurts just thinking about that.

 

There's nothing he can do to stop the hurt from piling on but he never ever meant to _add_ to it and now.

 

Shit.

 

It's been two days and Yoochun hasn't spoken more than four words to him.

 

Guiltily, Jaejoong fiddles with his phone, writes _i'm sorry_ ten times and deletes it nine times. He writes _i'm sorry, you can go back to normal now_ and he almost sends that but it sounds so cheap and gross and it's not at all what he wants to say.

 

What he _wants_ to say is _you can't go back to normal_ but that's too much and too greedy and too presumptuous.

 

So he ends up sending just a single, formal text.

 

_are you hungry_

 

*

 

Jaejoong's not really in the mood to cook.

 

But Changmin ambushes him at the door with, "Dinner."

 

"What do you want," Jaejoong sighs.

 

"Soondubu jjigae," Junsu suggests.

 

Changmin scowls. "Dakjuk."

 

Annoyed, Jaejoong turns to Yunho whose nose is buried in a fucking _dōjinshi_ , what the hell. "What do you want."

 

Yunho waves him off. "I don't care."

 

Jaejoong's going to maybe just lock them in the kitchen and set it on fire.

 

He tries to sound casual and not look at anyone when he asks, "Did Yoochun say what he wanted."

 

"Wha," Yunho asks, distracted. He flips a page. "Oh. Didn't he say he was in the mood for tokoroten or something?"

 

Changmin's head snaps up.

 

Jaejoong's heart stills.

 

Yunho scrunches up his nose. "Wait, is that that disgusting jelly noodle thing they made us eat."

 

"...no..." Changmin sighs, resigned.

 

"I have to..." Jaejoong starts clumsily, tripping over his words and trying to toe his shoes back on and to not die, "buy stuff. The thing. For the. Yeah."

 

When he exits the apartment, he probably breaks some kind of land speed record.

 

*

 

Yoochun gets out of supplementary lessons four minutes past his schedule.

 

Jaejoong glares at him, tucked away in a dark corridor, cheeks pink with the cold.

 

Yoochun meets his eyes. "Dinner?"

 

Jaejoong tries not to smile stupidly.

 

"Yeah."

 

*

 

"You owe me," Jaejoong grins, squeezing toothpaste onto Yoochun's toothbrush.

 

Yoochun meets his eyes in the mirror, puzzled.

 

"You said Junsu would break first," Jaejoong reminds, maybe a little too cocky.

 

Yoochun's cheeks darken. "You can't prove he didn't..."

 

Yeah, but.

 

"When Junsu was circling us like some vigilant shark," Jaejoong begins pompously, "and Changminnie was stalking us like some vengeful little vulture—"

 

Yoochun cracks up around the bristles.

 

Jaejoong rinses his mouth, mostly so he can hide it when he says, "I was bending you over a sink."

 

Yoochun freezes.

 

Jaejoong straightens, heart thundering in his chest.

 

"You're right," Yoochun gives a small nod. "I guess I owe you."

 

"Well, I did win..." Jaejoong agrees with a quick little nod, pajama pants tight.

 

"What would you like, hyung."

 

Yoochun's restless next to him. Their hips are brushing against each other in the mirror and Jaejoong's fingers itch to touch.

 

"You're not gonna make me say it, are you."

 

Yoochun shrugs, a little too casually. "Say what."

 

Jaejoong wrinkles his nose in distaste and embarrassment. "Please break up with that girl."

 

Yoochun's lips twitch.

 

He bumps Jaejoong out of the way and rinses his mouth, mumbling, "There's no girl, you idiot."

 

Then... why the fuck was Yoochun so pissed off. Why did he storm out after finding out the clause was null. Why the hell—

 

"I kinda..." Yoochun starts sheepishly, drying his hands and eyeing the door, "knew the thing was called off before you knew the thing was called off and I didn't want you to know it was off—"

 

He darts out of the bathroom, lightning-quick.

 

Jaejoong stares at the sink for a long moment.

 

Then bolts after the bastard and tackles him to the bed.

 

The headboard creaks dangerously.

 

A rung bends.

 

"Did Changmin tell you."

 

Beneath Jaejoong, Yoochun grins beautifully. "He called you gross."

 

Jaejoong is definitely gross.

 

He meets Yoochun's lips and grinds into him and feels the hourglass flip over.

 

"Wanna go do it on his bed?"


End file.
